Portraits of our dreams (Hashirama x Madara)

14. Only angry (Hashirama)

It was delightful, seeing Madara take on his new job. 

I had work to do in the days with the same architect that had hired Madara, but we were in different places physically, which meant we would part in the morning and meet up at home at six or so like a normal couple. I found I liked this new pace of having a daily schedule that was the same every day, and when I talked to my employer about it, he told me he would see what he could do to prolong it.

In the evenings, me and Madara cooked together, went running together, fucked together. God, it was lovely. At first, we had a lot of sex, some Saturdays just staying in bed for hours, fucking as soon as we woke up and then just waiting until we could do it again. Bit with time, we weren't as desperate for each other's bodies as we had been, having calmed ourself a little, and the sex became something different. It became deeper, even more meaningful, even more beautiful. Sometimes, I would hug him so close to me afterwards, I almost crushed him. He would laugh, but when he noticed how emotional I was, he would take my face in his hands, both of us naked still, and kiss me slowly and softly, leaving my lips wet and my heart full.

The day I finally asked him, we were sitting on the living room floor together. I had an acoustic guitar that I had bought in an antiques shop but couldn't play. Turned out Madara could, and I could sing a bit, and upon having discovered this about one another, we had come to spend the evenings singing and playing together. This was one of those times.

"I would like you to tell me", I said and took his hand. I forced myself to look up at him as I braided our fingers; it was important to me that he considered me safe. "I would like you to tell me about the man you fled from. You don't have to do it now. But some day, I would like to know."

Madara looked at our braided fingers and squeezed my hand. He then seemed to decide that tonight was as a good a time as any. And he was right. A light rain was hammering on the tilted windows. I had a salt stone lamp that cast an orange glow over us as we sat on the carpet, enjoying what we had built together. It wouldn't get better than this. 

"He was amazing. At first. They all are, I suppose. It started with little things. Like telling me I didn't look good in certain clothes. At first, I would only be happy he told me, even if I was hurt. I was happy because I had found someone who wanted my best. What I didn't understand then that he was slowly breaking down my confidence."

Madara told me how the abuse had escalated. It has also expanded to not only be psychological, but also economical and physical. When he reached the end of his tale, we sat entwined, him in my lap, and I had no memory of how that had come to be. Tears were streaming down my face, but not down his. He dried those tears, yet made no big affair of it, for which I was grateful.

But then, he told me one thing that would set off alarm bells in my head.

"I noticed he was seeing another man. Every Friday, he would come home drunk at around midnight. With another man's cologne on him."

Ice cold dread clenched at my heart.

Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. The chances are minimal.

But every Friday...

"How... How king did this last? And when was it?"

Madara mentioned a time span that matched exactly.

"Why do you ask?"

Madara looked up at me, not at all suspiciously but rather curious. I knew I had to tread very, very carefully from now on.